Jameson
by Taylor McComb
Summary: A creative representation of the literary research I've done on Hamlet as a villain. Jameson is a psychopath who avenges his mother's death against his step-father. It's rather morbid, so be prepared. I'm linking to this on my blog.
1. Chapter 1

**Ch. 1 Clark**

Genevieve woke up at 7am every morning to make him lunch when they were kids, and his 7-year-old brother would get a kiss every time he stepped out the door to walk to school. She would hand a lunch bag to the 10-year-old Jameson, and give him a look that said, "will you let me touch you today?" like it was some sort of gift from God. He would give her a look right back that said, "not today." 

Every day was like this back then, ex cept for the days after dad died. When he was gone, there was a sort of darkness in her eyes, something he couldn't quite understand. Grief was the hardest emotion to understand, and the hardest to fake. He would plop himself down on a seat at the kitchen counter for breakfast and examine her face, trying to guess how what she felt affected the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she made breakfast. Maybe it was just a slight change in the way she conducted her facial movements, or a slightly indistinct manner in the way she walked that was different. It almost made her look like she'd been carrying a large weight around all night, and it was a miracle that she'd gotten out of bed that day. 

When he got that look from her those mornings, he decided it wouldn't hurt to let her touch him just once. After a good squeeze and a kiss on the cheek, the darkness started to disappear a little bit. But only a little.

But that was a long time ago now, almost ten years, and there was a new darkness that filled the Denmark mansion. With Dad gone, Clark had tried to fill the space, but it was like the mansion couldn't exist without an empty place at the dinner table, so providence had taken Genevieve as further retribution against Jameson. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why a make-believe omnipotence in the sky should hate him so much to leave him with such a cold and callous step-father.  
>Jameson scooted his mashed potatoes around on his plate out of boredom.<br>"How was your day today?"  
>Jameson looked up from his plate with an empty face and looked into those stony eyes, grinning a bit at the grimace on his face.<br>"Fine."  
>He looked back down again to continue the music he was making with ceramic screeches.<br>Clark cleared his throat at an attempt to silence it.  
>"No really, how was it?"<br>Jameson looked up again and gave a little half-smile.  
>"I said it was fine."<br>Jameson focused on his food for a moment or two, determined to make Clark give up.  
>"Well what about you, Brett?"<br>"Oh, it was good."

Silence.

The presence of an empty chair in the room pressed upon everyone's mind and prevented anyone from communicating. After a while, Brett excused himself, mentioning something about homework.

"You know Jameson, I think you're taking this all a bit too hard. Maybe if you start putting on a smile, you'll start to feel like smiling."  
>Jameson continued to shove his potatoes around as if nothing had been said.<br>"Really, Jameson, you need help..."  
>"It's only been a month."<br>"I know, I know, but son..."  
>"I am NOT your son."<p>

Clark stared at Jameson with those stony eyes.  
>"Your grades are suffering, Jameson. Maybe you need help putting on a smile. Maybe you should see a grief counselor. I know an expert that could help you get over her."<br>At the words 'get over her,' Jameson stood up quickly, scraping the chair on the floor with an obnoxious noise, and began to leave.

If there was anyone in the world for whom Jameson would have felt affection if he could, it would be his mother, Genevieve. He owed her his life, but more than that, his safety. She raised him as a functional member of society, one who obeys the rules and does not get himself into trouble. She was the one who told Brett to stop crying when Jameson killed the cat. She was the one who sent him to his room so that she could have a chat with Jameson to teach him how to be normal , to teach him how to pretend. Don't let anyone know you're bored. Don't tell anyone about your daydreams. Don't let them know you don't care. Pretend like you care. Pretend like you love. Pretend. 

That's why he couldn't believe she could just be... gone. She had a purpose to serve, and if people could simply be swept up off the earth like that, the universe doesn't make sense. There wouldn't be any rules. And there had to be rules. There have to be rules, because well, rules keep us alive. Jameson's rules keep him alive. His mother gave him everything, anything, just so that he could be alive. It must have been love, but Jameson never knew how a person could just feel things like that... like, inside themselves. The only explanation was Clark. Clark had to have been the one to disrupt the universe, the one who broke the rules. He had to have taken her somehow.

"322 Copper Street, Jameson. Be there at 3pm tomorrow, because you don't have a choice."

Jameson looked back over his shoulder and watched his stony gaze turn to harsh anger for a moment before they switched right back to concern.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2 Brett**

Nothing was secret in the echoing cave-like mansion they called home. Walking up the wide spiral staircase, Jameson heard the echoes of faint sobs. Passing down the empty hallway, he couldn't ignore the lump of flesh on the floor of Brett's bedroom, so he went inside and sat down on the bed.

"I just don't get it," said the floor-lump.

"What is there to get?"

"Why did she have to die? Who says? I mean, Clark was making her happy, she was fighting, even getting better. So WHY?" Jameson could only think of one answer to that question, but his mother's voice spoke in his head -

_Pretend._

He decided it wasn't rational, and ignored it.

"Well, we can't always answer questions like that. But in this case, maybe the reason was Clark."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, the doctors said she was getting better... and Clark was a nurse..."

Brett twitched on the floor at the sound of his step-father's name.

"It couldn't have been him, Jameson. I'm sure he loved her. Sometimes when the doctors say words, I don't even know what they're saying, even when I do. You know?"

"Yeah man, I know..." He decided to let it go. After all, maybe the voice had a point. No one should know what Jameson thought of Clark. People thought he was crazy enough already.

"Hey, Brett - So, you know how I've been acting crazy lately?"

"You're always crazy Jameson." The floor-lump twisted around to grin at his brother.

"HA. HA. But I'm being serious here. You know, the darkness in me... I've sort of exaggerated it a little around Clark. When we got stuck with him, I hoped if I acted even more crazy, I could try and freak him out a little so he'd leave us alone. Turns out, my plan didn't work so well, and he believes me a little too much."

The thought took him back to the neighbor's cat. Jameson held it a little too hard when he was six years old. I mean, how can you hold a fuzzy, fragile, breakable little thing like a kitten in your arms, and measure your own strength accurately enough to exert just the amount of force required to play with it, which falls just under the threshold of what would break those teensy little ribs? That was when he first figured out that he wasn't afraid of things, and that he didn't care about things like Brett did.

"What're you trying to do Jameson, get yourself locked up?" By this time Brett had sat up to reveal his tear-stained face, now coursing with rage.

"No, of course not, I just wanted to - "

"Freak him out, right? You CAN'T freak him out, Jameson. What if he really finds out who you are, what you're like? You could ruin the Denmark name, Genevieve would never forgive you for giving up on yourself, and Clark is your guardian, so who knows what he could do - "

"Alright, alright! I get the point. He's making me see a psychiatrist tomorrow, so I'll try and play it cool."

"You'd better, for your sake, and mine. Remember what mom said about getting caught."

"I will."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3 Genevieve**

Trying to get to sleep that night was like fighting with dinosaurs. Memories of his past kept flitting through his brain as if they were the last moment of his life. He started sweating, but it couldn't be a fever because he often sweat when his nerves started to flare up like this. He went over to the window to let in some air, and an unseasonable cold rushed in, leaving him in shivers. He stood looking out the window for a bit, wondering about whether Clark would really send him to an institution if he thought he was a nutjob. He wondered if Clark _already _thought he was a nutjob. He leaned against the windowsill and breathed in the fresh night air. Strangely, his mother's perfume wafted in on the breeze. It was the same thing he smelled every time she came in the room, every time she came close to him to tuck him in bed when he was young, every time he talked to her, every time she scolded him for making a mistake, for slipping up and getting noticed.

He decided he should try and get some sleep, but when he turned around, he could not deny the image of his mother standing in the center of his bedroom, as real-looking as if she really were there.

She looked exactly the same as she did when he last saw her, still sick-looking, but better, brighter. Wearied, hollow eyes suspended beneath the scarf on her bald head, which she had called her 'fighting trophy.' But she was standing, and hadn't been able to stand looking so strong like that in a long time, though she still looked like she'd been wandering through the desert starved and dehydrated for a week.

_Hello Jameson._

"Mother, is that you?"

_Yes honey. But I can't stay for long. I just need to send you a message before I am resigned to my suffering._

At this she waved her arm towards the door, presumably to indicate her imminent departure.

"Suffering? Where? Tell me and I will end it. Is it Clark?"

She looked at him with that same sad expression she used when she knew he wasn't getting it right, or when he expressed frustration at having to play at such an awkward game of pretend.

_My life didn't end peacefully, Jameson, and that lack of peace continues into the eternity of my existence. The only thing that can bring comfort in my state is retribution. Balance must be brought to the universe, and the wrong must be set right. And Jameson, you are the only one who can do it. Brett is too weak, he could never stomach it. But you, you have a gift. Use your gift for the benefit of us both. _

At this Jameson's heart began to race, and he knew that his dreams were all real, his wishes fulfilled, and his suspicions confirmed.

"What is it? Did Clark kill you?"

_Yes._

"How?"

_He must have slipped me too much medicine while measuring my doses. The doctor said they got it all, Jameson. I think he never expected me to live. _

"I KNEW it. It was all about the money."

_I want to say I'm sorry Jameson._

"Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."

_I thought I was going to be there for you for longer, to protect you, help you fit in. I thought I could keep you away from the darkness that lives inside of you, but it seems that God has a purpose for it..._

He watched her attempt to cry, but it ended in a fit of coughing.

"I have a purpose for it, nevermind God. But what is it you need me to do?"

_Kill him._

At that she was gone, as if she'd never been there, and Jameson was left to wonder if he was really capable of taking Clark's life. He wondered if he really could take his revenge.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4 Sophia**

Waiting for Jameson in the morning was never a hassle until today. She had to be on time for class today because she was giving a presentation, and she couldn't wait up any longer for her boyfriend if he wasn't coming at the time he always did. It was strange, he was always so prompt, so consistent. She felt like she could rely on him for almost anything. So what was different about today?

It got to the point where if she didn't leave the house now, she'd never make it in time to prepare for her presentation. That was when he finally knocked.

"Where have you been? I was waiting!" She looked him over, and noticed a haggard look on his face, he hadn't shaved, and his eyes were red and swollen. He looked just as pale as his shirt. "Rough night?"

"No sleep."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Look I DON'T want to talk about it Sophia. You're always getting in my business. You need to just know when to back off."

He turned and headed for his car without coming into the house.

"Jeez, it must've been really bad. So did you just sleep in?"

Instead of opening her car door like he usually did, he just plopped himself into the driver's seat and started the car. "Clark wants me to see a shrink."

"You don't think he thinks..."

"Yeah I do. So can we just give it up? I'm freakin tired, and I just don't want to listen to your whiny little voice right now." She clammed up, and stared out the window vacantly, trying to imagine why the bouts of anger would be flaring up more now than when his mom died. She looked over to examine him once again, and she caught a glimpse of the explosions of repressed anger rolling around beneath the surface. He was _pissed_, but she couldn't tell why.

When they finally got to school, Jameson went around the car to grab Sophia in his arms and pull her close. The movement might to anyone else have looked like he were about to kiss her, but because he grasped one of her wrists, along with what Sophia saw in his eyes, it sent shivers down her back. He began to peruse her expressions, looking for signs of... well, she didn't know. He drew in a deep breath as if he were trying to inhale her soul, and gave a sigh so piteous and profound as it seemed to shatter all his bulk and end his being. The look on his face reminded her of horror movies, and again sent another chill down her spine. He seemed to say without words, "you are mine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5 Polonius**

On a couch looking across the room at a psychiatrist was probably the last place Jameson Denmark wanted to be right now, especially after last night's episode. Jameson didn't exactly want to spend time hanging out with a plump man who had a bald, baseball shaped head. Jameson thought about what would happen if he suddenly started to act like a wacko by telling the doctor what he really thought about his mother's death. He thought about what Clark would do - probably send him away for good so he didn't have to be bothered anymore. But there was no way Jameson was going to let that happen. He was good at pretending to be something he's not. He should have been by now, anyway.

"So Jameson, how has your last week been? Last time I saw you, you were talking about your stepfather Clark. You mentioned some suspicions about him and didn't really expand on them. Do you care to explain further?" His voice was like an air conditioning system trying to sing opera – monotone as a robot, with inserts of inflection as an attempt at some sort of animation. He had to squint sometimes because his glasses would fall down his nose, and he would neglect to push them up until his question was answered.

Jameson avoided the question and instead examined the movement patterns of a few pieces of lint he could see because of the slits of light coming through the blinds. He couldn't help but think about how he was breathing those little particles into his lungs. By the end of the session, his insides would probably feel like they'd been gathering dust for years. He examined Dr. Polonius' desk, lit with a dim lamp, probably to set some sort of aura, but it seemed to have the opposite effect which any regular psychiatrist would want. He was also dressed like a regular psychiatrist: slacks, sweater vest, penny loafers, glasses. But Dr. Polonius wasn't regular. He had pictures of all his patients lined up on a shelf behind his desk, some in orange uniforms. Jameson gave a shudder as he saw the stacks of papers piled up on his desk, probably filled with the crazy thoughts of a thousand psychopaths.

Jameson had been suspicious at first, but instantly knew what was going on the first time he had walked into this office. He thought about leaving, but Clark was not someone who was easily challenged. So for the time being, Jameson really did not have a choice. Instead, he'd just have to pretend like he was normal and try and get out of this mess. Maybe he could prove Clark wrong, and show him that he really can pretend better than anyone thought.

"Jameson? I asked you a question?"

"He's the biggest jackass I ever met."

Jameson then looked down at the green couch, patterned with tiny little square tufts of cotton. It was still smooth enough to be recognized as cotton, but hinted at the fact that many a maniac had put their hand in this spot, and the couch probably hadn't been washed or years.

"Well, people aren't always jackasses when we get to know them better. Why is he such a jackass?"

"He killed my mom." Oops.

Dr. Polonius finally pushed up his glasses and looked down to write something on Jameson's file. Jameson felt that in front of his eyes his doom was being sealed on that document.

"Blaming the surviving parent for the other parent's death is never the answer, Jameson. It's not Clark's fault. Cancer killed her, not your stepfather."

Jameson just looked down at the couch again silently.

"Well your mother never would have married a jackass, would she?"

Jameson looked up at this, and gave Dr. Polonius a confused look.

"Of course not. Obviously she never knew who he really was, until he killed her."

Jameson thought about how... _happy _she'd seemed when Clark was around, and he thought about the first time she laughed since his father's death. They had been sitting at the dinner table, and Clark cracked a stupid joke that was somehow hilarious to her. It was like she was a completely different person, without that black hole in her soul. The laugh almost seemed like it came from an alien; Jameson wasn't used to a mother who laughed. But she had certainly been happy with Jameson's father. Much happier than she ever was with Clark. She was _really_ happy then. He'd served in the military, been a successful businessman, an avid biker, and still spent plenty of quality time with his family. She had adored him, every last part of him, and said so to Jameson and Brett all the time. The only man on the earth that could have made her that happy was his father, and he was gone.

"What are you thinking about, Jameson?"

Jameson looked up and around again to avoid the hard stare of the man across the room.

"Jameson?"

"My mom."

"What about your mom?"

"Just trying to figure out why she ever married that creep."

"Maybe she remarried because she got lonely. People get lonely sometimes."

Genevieve, lonely? But she was with Jameson all the time, she'd practically devoted her life to him. What could possibly make her feel alone? With this thought, Jameson began to feel his heart rate rise, and his palms to sweat on the cotton tufts.

"HOW could she feel LONELY? I was there. BRETT was there. We were FAMILY. What do YOU know anyway? My family was CLOSE, and we didn't NEED anyone else - we were provided for, we were happy, we were together, we were doing _great_."

"Well what I mean is that..."

The thoughts of anger towards this bumbling idiot and his stepfather that had been building up behind a secret internal wall seemed to suddenly expand and burst into a thousand little pieces in this moment. The man talked too much. He had no place, no RIGHT to be talking about these things, and Jameson needed SILENCE.

In a second, he was on the floor, with a red ring about his neck. Something had cut off the air in the man's esophagus. There were red marks in the shape of hands.

Jameson looked down at his hands. Red. _So he could do it._ Jameson was capable of taking real human life, and he rejoiced in this epiphany. Plus, there was no evidence that he had ever been there. All it took was a simple swapping of his file, because Clark had luckily paid the Doctor in cash for "discretion" as he had so aptly called it that morning.

Satisfied with this renewed sense of confidence, and exhilarated with the rushing feeling in his lungs and the quick beats of his heart, he finally felt himself able to fulfill the challenge given him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6 Sophia Again**

After what had happened that morning, Sophia knew something had to be wrong with Jameson. He wasn't himself, and she had to stop him from doing whatever it was that he was about to do. His appointment was at three, so he must have been home by four thirty. Maybe if she had Brett help her, they could intervene and get him to fess up about what was going on.

Jameson was strange, she knew that much. But he had never scared her like that before- there had to be something wrong. He'd been talking about Clark, and going to the psychiatrist. What if Clark really thought he was crazy, and that's what was making Jameson so mad? But then, how could she explain his wild fit in the parking lot that morning? It just seemed so... unexplainable. By the time the phone was ringing, Sophia was wishing he had already answered.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Brett, I need your help. I think Jameson is in trouble. This morning he..."

"I know, he freaked me out too. I don't know what's been going on today, but he was screaming in his sleep last night."

"Wait, he told me he didn't sleep at all."

"Ok, Sophia, I'll meet you at my house as soon as my baseball practice is over so we can try and talk to him. But whatever you do, Do NOT go in there without me, ok? I'm afraid of what he might do, and I want to be there to protect you."

"Ok, that's fine. 7pm, right?"

"7." She thought the click of the phone might give her some relief, but it only intensified her distress. She knew that Jameson hated Clark; if Clark had happened to come home from work at the wrong time, something drastic could happen...


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch. 7 Clark Again**

There he was in his room, praying. The first thing Jameson had to do was calm himself. Just breathe. If he started to get too angry, he could do something stupid and ruin it, but it had to be perfect. He watched Clark spill his soul out to an immaterial and enigmatic ideal in the cosmos.

He'd even left the door wide open, making it easy to slip in unnoticed, and easier still to put the knife to his throat. The blinds had been shut for privacy, which was more important now than ever. Clark's "discretion" got him nowhere. There was no going unnoticed now, and Clark had no way out; Clark had made sure of this – he'd planned this moment so many times in his head, he couldn't imagine anything deviating from it.

_Kill him._

He watched as Clark's words broke off and his hands dropped onto the bed in surrender. Jameson tried repeatedly to calm himself before he could begin speaking. But he felt the anger rise up in his throat like fire thirsting for oxygen. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he might release the effects of a back draft. So instead, he waited for Clark to speak first.

He didn't for a while, maybe to make Jameson sweat a little more, or maybe because of his own fear. But after the passing of a few long moments, Clark's head slowly turned to look over his shoulder, and Jameson shivered at the sight of those stony eyes.

"I never thought it would come to this."

"What, you never thought I would find out?"

"About what? Jameson, you're in trouble. You need help." His stony gaze seemed to feign concern.

_Kill him._

"No, YOU need help. I know who you are, and I'm here to exact my revenge. You know what you've done. Asking forgiveness from God won't help. I'm here to send you to Hell where you belong."

Jameson started to shake, but another breath steadied his hand. Jameson needed nothing more than to kill his stepfather, and everything would be right. He NEEDED it. They both did.

Clark noticed the ghostly shade of his attacker's face.

"Jameson, you look so ghostly pale, are you sick?"

"Of course I'm sick! I'm sick of you, of what you've done. YOU make me sick. Oh, I know all about it, but I want to hear it from your lips before I slit your throat.

…Why did you kill her?"

At this Clark's face went blank, and he slowly started to rise and turn to face his stepson.

_Kill him. kill him._

"I didn't. I don't know what you're talking about." Clark's mouth gave a little twitch at the corner, most likely from nerves, as he usually twitched when he was under stress. Jameson remembered when his nursing residency was almost over, and he walked around almost with a constant twitch. But it didn't matter now because now the twitch meant guilt. In this moment, it meant acknowledgment of his crimes. And that was almost enough. But Genevieve had told him to be careful, to find proof. He needed a confession, and only then could his mother's spirit rest in peace. That's why there could be no mercy, no backing down. If only torture would attain the truth, then torture it would be, and he would not be bothered by it.

He held the knife a little closer, twisting it until he started to see some guilt spill out.

_kill him kill him kill him._

"Why. Tell me."

"What makes you think that I killed her? Why on earth would I? I loved her so much… Son." Jameson winced and leaned in closer to him. A little more blood spilled out of the cut on his neck, and Clark was beginning to choke. He swallowed his words and continued, "She died of cancer. I know that it's hard to accept, but she was needed in another world. She couldn't stay to be with us because she was too perfect. God needed her."

"I don't give a damn what God needed."

"Well you should, because he is in control. Not you, not me."

"Oh, you and your God. How do you talk to _God _if you know your own guilt? YOU gave her the drugs; I know you did. She was home, there was no one else to do it, you knew the dosage, you knew what it would take to kill her, you who could profit by it and take all the money." Jameson was almost out of breath, so full of the only emotion he could feel that it made him dizzy.

"Listen, that's all true. But it doesn't mean I _killed_ her!"

Those stony eyes stared at him, searching Jameson's soul for signs of… something. "I wanted nothing more than to make her feel comfortable during her last days on this planet."

_Kill him! Kill him!_

"Her last days wouldn't have come if it weren't for you."

"That's not true." Clark looked at Jameson with incredulity, and a certain kind of fear came into his eyes, something that hadn't been there when the knife was first held up to his throat. Maybe Clark had come to the conclusion that he could no longer hold out hope for his life, and the light seemed to leave him already. His countenance changed, and he no longer looked as if he wanted to help Jameson, and he lost his feigned concern. Maybe he assumed that Jameson was beyond help at this point. But the stones he had for eyes became as hard as diamond. It was almost like anger, but with a sort of calculation behind it. His eyes looked down at the knife, looked at Jameson's feet, his hands. "Your mother, she came home. But it wasn't because she was getting better. It was because she would never get better." His mouth twitched again, this time almost indiscernible.

_KILL HIM! KILL HIM!_

"No. She was better. She was _healthy_." Jameson's body started to lose tension, muscles slackened in his arms slightly with the memory of what the doctors had said about metastasis, and how it had spread to many different parts of her body. He remembered the word

Inoperable.

But he stood tall and firm, ready to take the revenge he so desperately needed. Clark had killed Genevieve, and he knew it.

Clark knew that if he were to get out of this alive, this would be his only chance.

He swiftly knocked the knife out of Jameson's weakened hand, repelling the blows and grappling with him for his life. But Jameson had been prepared for this, and caught hold of his stepfather's neck. Soon, they were on the floor, and Jameson watched as Clark's face turned purple and Jameson rejoiced at the sight of it.

_kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him..._

"MURDERER."

Clark's eyes lost their stony nature, which was replaced with pure fear. Oddly enough, this was the first moment in which Jameson considered Clark as a human being. He'd never known the stone not to be there, watching him, evaluating, keeping him awake at night. But now with it gone, Clark looked just the same as his mother looked in the hospital when she told him she was coming home. An unnatural color, with a shadow of something in the future. Now, he was human, and Jameson was proud of himself for making him that way.

But when the humanity was gone, and all that was left was a lump of human on the floor and his hands smeared in blood, Jameson waited for the moment of glory. There was supposed to be one: after all, he had felt _euphoria_ when he had killed Dr. Polonius, the prating fool.

But nothing came. The only difference was that there was no longer the repetitive voice in his head, reminding him of his responsibility to his mother and her memory. And his mother's ghost no longer haunted the back corners of his consciousness, asking for mercy, for life, and for revenge. For now, his head was clear and quiet, just enough to think.

Jameson surveyed the scene, examining every drop of blood, and listening closely to every sound. He broke down the next steps of what should be done in order to make it seem that none of this had ever happened. He needed to clean up the blood from the cut on the villain's neck, and the villain's body should be buried in the backyard. The villain's blood needed to be washed from the carpet, and that could take some time.

He asked the walls if they would keep a secret, and they responded that they had kept secrets for generations, and would continue to do so because it was their nature.

But that was when they heard the key turn in the door, and Brett's heavy footsteps climbing the staircase. He told the walls to shut up so he could think.


	8. Chapter 8

1

**Ch. 8 Brett Again**

The heavy breathing coming from Clark's bedroom could not be a good sign. Then there were whisperings, but they were only coming from one voice. Jameson. As he finally approached the top of the stairs, Brett peaked into the slit of the room visible through the door just barely ajar. Blood. On the floor. _Oh no, he's done it._

Then before he could react, Jameson's face appeared much closer than was expected, staring him right in the eyes.

"Brett! You're here! Finally! I knew you'd come! Look at what I did, Brett! Clark will finally leave us alone now! I just need to clean up this mess, and we're home free!" The door creaked open further, and Brett looked down on Clark's body spread-eagle on the carpet.

"James, how about we just talk about this a little..."

"No silly, we don't have time to talk, we need to get this taken care of, before anyone finds out!"

"But they'll probably find out anyway, and there are more pressing matters. Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?"

"Well of course, but things have changed now..."

Brett took a deep breath, knowing he was walking on thin ice. "Remember when we talked about the family name, and about your secret. Remember what mom said."

"Of course I remember what mom said, I saw her last night."

"No Jameson, you didn't. Mom never would have wanted this."

"Of course she did, Brett! She's the one who told me to do it, she kept saying 'kill him kill him kill him...'"

_Kill him kill him kill him_

"Like that! You hear?"

Brett's eyes widened as he looked at the image of what used to be his brother, what used to be his friend.

"I'm going to have to take you downstairs now Jameson, Sophia's waiting for you."

_kill him kill him kill him._

"I don't WANT to see SOPHIA. I need your help figuring out what do, and we've already wasted so much time! but then, why would mom keep telling me to kill him, I thought I had already."

"That's not Genevieve you hear Jameson. It's your own mind, playing tricks on you!"

_kill him kill him kill him._

"But it sure sounds like her..."

Sophia waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs until she just couldn't take it any longer. The man she cared about was up there, and he was in trouble. She was only halfway up the stairs when the sound of scuffling paused her movements. But the thought of a fight just helped her decide to rush more quickly up the stairs. When she reached the top and saw Brett lying on the floor next to Clark, she knew that only God could save her.


	9. Chapter 9

"The Testimony of a Witness"

"Right from the beginning we knew there was something off about the Denmark mansion. It was only a few years after they moved in that the father died, found drowned in his own bathtub. The papers said it was an overdose, and that he had climbed into the bathtub of his own accord, and died there. But we thought it was kind of strange, with the mother lurking about like that after his death, hunched over in some kind of serious show of pain. She never came outside, and never said hello to any of us. She didn't come to our weekly tea parties, or our Sunday brunches. She never even came to one charity event at the local country club. No one spoke with her, because she was a social pariah. But of course, being her neighbor, I paid close attention to what went on in that house, as I had children to rear, you know? I needed to know that they were safe, and they wouldn't get any trouble from those strange people.

"We knew they had kids, but we never saw much of them either. Except Jameson. He played with little Seth across the street. They were always getting themselves into trouble, blowing things up and the like. We started a neighborhood watch a while back because of vandalism, but of course we never found out who the culprit was. But if you ask any of us, we'd say it was him. Everyone knew. We never knew if the mother ever got over her husband's death, because she stayed that way for a long time, almost ten years, and right after that she got cancer. Like her husband's ghost gave it to her.

"Anyway, she got real close with one of her nurses, and he started visiting more often, until one day they got married. Just like that. Such a scandal to marry someone when you're so sick like that. Strange. We supposed she must feel like she needed to leave someone behind to take care of the kids, but shouldn't a person have family to take care of that? Really, I never heard such a thing before. The worst part was that when she walked to her car in the morning, she still had a sickly sort of look about her; she definitely still had ghosts. She still didn't smile very much either. So when she finally died, I figured the family would move, find someplace where the kids really belonged, you know? But instead, the new husband kept them close, and kept them in check. Jameson stopped his usual tricks, and Brett began to make friends, tried out for the baseball team. We thought Clark was doing a pretty decent job of keeping the kids in line, until this tragedy. Oh, such a waste."

3 DEAD IN DOMESTIC INCIDENT

Two days ago, three bodies were found in the backyard of the Denmark mansion, on Walnut Street in the Hampton neighborhood. The Denmarks' neighbor noticed that no one had left the house in a week, and had decided to pay a visit. "When no one answered the door, I decided to investigate further until I noticed some black plastic sticking up out of the ground," she said. Upon the discovery of the bodies, she called the police immediately. The three victims have now been identified as Clark Hansen, Sophia Harold, and Brett Denmark. The cause of death of each of the victims seems undetermined at the moment, though red marks around each of the necks suggest strangling. They were (cont. p2) wrapped in black plastic bags and buried in shallow graves. Police are doing the best they can to further the investigation by questioning neighbors and the families and friends of the victims. Police say that they are still searching for the missing member of the family, Jameson,

16 years old, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He is considered very dangerous, and the newspaper has been informed of the necessity to issue a warning: If he is seen, please contact the number below, or call 911, rather than approach him directly.

(805-911-0900)


End file.
